Door Number Three
by wren4
Summary: Let's take a look behind door number three, shall we? Syd's thoughts while getting dressed, Vaughn's bad habit, lots of S/V and a little peek at the future...Last chapter up, find out what happens to SD-6 and Will Tippin
1. Second Chances

* Disclaimer- I do not own any of the characters! NONE! No infringement intended!   
FORGIVE ME!  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
Second Chances  
  
  
She doesn't even have the luxury of waking up slowly. Like everything she does, it's abrupt and violent. Her eyes open to the muted blue light of the room and she shoots up into a sitting position. It takes her only a moment longer to realize where she is--and who she's with. In that moment she wishes she could slump back into oblivion and stay forever in this heaven, but she knows she's been here too long already; should have never come in the first place, she's put both of them in danger, and it can never, ever happen again.  
  
Her feet hit the floor and immediately bury themselves in the carpet against the chill. As she searches for her underwear, she tries to suppress the memories of how she got here, and what happened afterwards. She's here now and she can't go back, there's no changing any of it. No regrets, he had whispered last night, and she would keep her promise the best she could. No regrets.  
  
She pauses as she recovers her shirt and tugs it over her head. The shape on the bed moves uneasily in sleep. She watches as his forehead sets in familiar wrinkles, and he opens his mouth, but seems unable to say anything. She creeps silently to the side of the bed to peer down at him anxiously. She doesn't want him to wake up; it'll be easier to leave if he's asleep.   
  
"Syd..." he moans in his sleep. So, he talks in his sleep, too. Another reason they're too perfect for each other.  
  
"Yes?" he voice barely makes it out of her throat it's so quiet.  
  
"Don't leave me..." he pleads.  
  
"I won't be gone long," she promises, and hesitates before adding, "Remember, no matter what, I love you, Vaughn."   
  
"Love you, Syd..." he murmurs lazily as he rolls over.  
  
She fights the urge to leave one last kiss on his lips and steps back from the bed, hands shaking. I love you...God, this was going to get messy. She doesn't know what she will say to him next time she sees him in the warehouse. Maybe nothing. It would be better for him that way, hurt less, because above all she never wanted to hurt him. And she doesn't think she could survive the pain, either.  
  
They could fall in love with other people, she knows. One of these days, she'd go off on some mission and never come back, and he'd find a woman he could take out in public.  
  
Just not Alice, Alice will never be right for him, she decides as she wiggles into her jeans.  
  
And her, well she could find a man she wouldn't be afraid she would kill with her love. But that would probably mean she would have to lie to him, lie to another person she loves. No, it won't work.  
  
She grabs a coat as she heads for the door; his coat, her coat, it doesn't matter. Their lives are too mixed up in each other's already.   
  
You only get one second chance, they teach you as you're growing up. Danny was her first chance; Michael Vaughn is her second. She glances back once as she leaves at his quiet form, bathed in the early morning light, he looks so beautiful. My guardian angel. She won't waste this chance.  
  
But, God, she wishes there was a Door Number Three.  
  
  
A/N: PLEASE R/R! It will help me to know I'm doing this right before I add more chapters! And don't worry, there will be more, happier chapters! 


	2. Bad Habits

Chapter Two  
  
Bad Habits  
  
He watches absently as his fingers drum out a rhythm on the crate next to him. He winces when he realizes what he is doing. Bad habit. It really annoys some people, but he still can't seem to help it.  
  
Worrying. That's another one of his bad habits. His mother always said he would worry himself to death. True, and Sydney Bristow would be the death of him, since she seemed to be the source of all his worries. He hadn't seen her in two days, and it was most certainly killing him. The morning after-after that night, SD-6 had shoved her on a flight to another place you only hear of once in your life and soon forget. She didn't even have time to get a counter-mission, but she was intelligent and it was nothing more complicated than get copies for the CIA. But she had been gone two days; two days of no sleep for him. Until he gets a call this morning to meet her, no explanation, none needed.   
  
What ever happened to those nice nine to five jobs they had been promised as kids?  
  
Syd. The worst of his bad habits, and he was addicted. He should have stopped himself long before their night together, but he would have to stop it today. And break both their hearts. Above all he had to be professional about all of this, so she wouldn't get the wrong idea.  
  
He hears her footsteps long before he sees her. He allows himself one raking glance while her back is turned, closing the cage, to check for bruises or any other injuries. There, where the sleeve pulls back to reveal a nasty purple spot. Then he drops his eyes to the floor and pretends he doesn't see it, just like all the others. Sometimes he pretends so much he thinks he might just go blind.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hi."  
  
A hand appears, offering him a bundle of papers. He takes them without thinking, their fingers brushing. He stands up, acting like he is concentrating on what she has given him, flipping random pages as he moves to the farthest corner away from her. He tries to read the words, but they blur meaninglessly in front of his eyes.  
  
"...So I just took pictures of the papers and gave SD-6 the originals. That was alright, wasn't it?" Her brilliant eyes look at him, pleading for praise, and his breath catches for a moment.  
  
"Hmmm...? Yes, great job Syd. Soon enough you won't even need me to tell you anything." He tries a smile at his own joke, but it's weak and falls quickly.  
  
"Vaughn? Is something wrong?" Concerned, she steps forward, and he awkwardly sidesteps her advance.   
  
"Nothing, absolutely nothing." Except everything in this world that makes it impossible for him to have her.   
  
Her brows draw together accusingly. So much for trying to be professional. Is he really that transparent, or does she just know him too well? Something flashes suddenly behind her eyes, and she steps back to regard him from the opposite side of the cage. "Dammit, Vaughn," she says quietly. "We never say what we really mean, and I'm getting really tired of it! Give me the truth just once."  
  
Her anger draws him off guard, and he decides to give exactly what she wants, just this one time. "I'm afraid if I touch you, I'll kill you. Is that good enough for you?' He can't help letting some of his own frustration leak into his response, turning it bitter.  
  
He watches helplessly as the sadness descends over her features, wishing he wasn't the cause. Slowly, she seems to gather her limitless strength around her, putting her walls up. She puts one foot in front of the other as she paces towards him, pinning him under her stare. She comes so close he can't do anything but smell her, breath in her scent, wish could sweep her into his arms and smother her in comfort. He loved how it amazed her that someone would want to take care of her, when she was always taking care of everyone else.  
  
She places her hands on his chest, two small burning fires branding his flesh, marking him as hers forever.  
  
"One last time, to remember you by." She presses her lips against his, and his arms come around her of their own accord.   
  
Before it even begins, she drops her head and he drops his arms. He watches as the world moves in to fill the space between them, separating them more than ever. She casts him one last meaningful look and turns to walk away.  
  
"I'll see you soon, Agent Vaughn," she calls casually over her shoulder, but you could almost hear her heart cracking.  
  
"Goodbye, Agent Bristow." His hands clench around each other, distracting pain with pain.   
  
Now he knows why it is so hard for smokers to quit. Bad habits die hard.   
  
  
A/N: Okay, so much for happy, huh? I promise, just stick with me for the next chapter! Don't forget to R/R! 


	3. Sandals

Chapter Three  
  
Sandals  
  
She and Francie live on an island of the coast of France now; they wear sandals all the time and they never have to look over their shoulders. Or atleast that's what she tells Francie. Looking over her shoulder is part of her nature, and she doesn't think she will ever be free of it.   
  
Especially not since SD-6 still exists.   
  
Her cover had been blown nearly a year ago. The CIA had gathered up Francie and her as quickly as they could and put them on a boat with new names, new lives. Will was gone, simple gone. She never knew where, but maybe it was better that way. She could still remember how cold a morning it had been, standing on the pier and gripping Francie's hand. Waiting for the boat. Waiting for Michael Vaughn.   
  
But Vaughn never came, and she had left without even a goodbye.   
  
Francie had forgiven her in time. They had opened their own restaurant in the tiny village, and built new lives. Here, everyone knew their names, but no one asked questions; they simply accepted the two young women with unfailing hospitality. But she had never forgiven herself. Or Vaughn.  
  
She watches her sandals shuffling along the rocky ground while Francie, or Isabelle as she was known now, discusses something she is considering putting on the menu. The cool wind yawns around her, pulling strands of brown hair into view. She reaches out a hand and stuffs it back behind her ear.  
  
Isabelle's feet come to stop beside her own, and Sydney can almost feel her put on her most charming smile.  
  
"Pardon, mademoiselle," a familiar voice says, making her head shoot up at a dizzying rate. "I'm looking for, um, Juliette Jolivet."  
  
He's smiling one of his once-rare smiles, unable to keep it of his face as he watches her expression. Even his use of her alias stroked fires down her spine she'd rather not be feeling.  
  
Isabelle covers smoothly, not seeing any of what passes silently between the two people around her. "Well, you've found her! May I ask your name?"  
  
"Um...'Belle, this is my old friend..." she begins, flustered as she remembers the other woman's presence.  
  
"Christophe Dupont," he interrupts, offering his hand.   
  
Isabelle takes it, looking up at him under her lashes. "Isabelle. It's a pleasure." She pauses, obviously picking up the uncomfortable feeling hanging between her friend and this strange man. "Well, mmmm, I guess you two have some catching up to do." She winks suggestively at them and strides off, swinging her hips.   
  
He takes her arm firmly. "Walk with me a little."  
  
She can hardly find it in her to refuse, not when he won't stop smiling at her like that. He shouldn't do this to her. He hadn't loved her like she thought. It was like when you tell a child they can't have something; it's all they want until they have it.   
  
So why was he back now?   
  
The question haunts her as she leads him almost blindly to her own café. She sits down hard in one of the chairs, her legs unable to support her. She gestures vaguely at him, and he takes the seat across the table from her. It's a few more moments before she can gather her wits about her. Whatever happened to the Sydney Bristow that could talk herself out of any tight spot?  
  
She got caught. End of story.  
  
"Why?" she finally manages. Why didn't you come? Why didn't you love me enough? She could have screamed, cried, thrown something, but that would have caused a scene.  
  
He reaches across the table to hook a strand of hair behind her ear, taking her breath away with his unexpected gesture. It brings back memories she had drowned long ago in her tears.   
  
"Why?" he repeats easily, like he has no idea of the affect he has on her. "Why am I here? Because I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't breath without you."  
  
That didn't sound like him at all. "Don't say that. You know that is exactly what I wanted to hear. Tell me why you're really here. Why you didn't come before."   
  
He doesn't seem surprised by her response, just begins tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. "No, I didn't think that would work on you, but, hey, it was a nice sentiment." He takes a long breath. "I didn't know what I wanted, Sydney-Juliette, whatever--, you took care of that. From the day I met you, the world had all sorts of new depths I wasn't ready for. You don't know how deep still waters run until you jump in, right? Well, it took me a little longer to make that jump than you. I've never been as brave as you. I had to set things in order; my family, my friends, my job, and you. But I made a choice, and I might regret it once in awhile, but believe me, Sydney, I will never, ever give up on you. For the rest of my life I choose you, whether you want me or not."  
  
He draws another unsteady breath and smiles again, not quite so bright or so happy as before, but still a smile. "Besides, it took me a long time to convince Eric to adopt Donovan."  
  
Even with his words, it is still hard to let go of her anger. It hurt, too, that he hadn't been able to take that leap, even for her. Still, the magnitude of what he gave up doesn't evade her. He gave up his life, and she couldn't give up her grudge? What kind of spoiled brat was she?  
  
That noise...that noise is starting to wear on her nerves. Her hand snakes out to cover his fingers, stops them from drumming on the table. He looks up at her, eyes raw and bleeding.   
  
She smiles at him, finally letting it all go and feeling lighter for it. "You-You gave up Donovan for me?"  
  
He laughs, a beautiful sound that makes her world fall into place. This was right; she was finally home.  
  
Their lips meet, and they draw into their own cocoon, oblivious to the passing stares.  
  
So much for causing a scene.  
  
  
  
A/N: Terribly sappy, right? But atleast it was happy. It's only setting us up for the final scene, anyway...Don't stop now, keep reading! 


	4. Guardian Angel

Chapter Four  
  
Guardian Angel  
  
He walks up the gravel driveway in the bruised, purple color of the fading day. He hates that color because it reminds him of his own bruises. He fumbles with his keys for a minute before finding the right one, opening the door to the warm glow of his childhood home. His charter plane had been late; everyone else was already here.  
  
"Will?" a voice calls from the depths of the house. His father, Christophe Dupont. His mother always refused to call him Will for some reason, only William.  
  
Christophe appears to his left, out of the den, with a smile on his face. He has more gray hair than William remembers, but he's still a handsome man. "Guillaume! Don't stand there, come in and help your sisters!" He always knows he's home when he hears his father use his French name.  
  
With a wave, he passes into the kitchen where the women are gathered. His mother is hunched over the stove with Aunt Belle, who's dictating how to cook some dish. She turns, spoon in hand, to greet him. "I would hug you, but your clothes look so clean!" Juliette grins, showing the tiny wrinkles around the edges of her eyes and smile. He's proud of every one of those wrinkles because he knows he's the cause of them. She points the spoon at the center of his chest. "Now, go help out in the dining room!"  
  
His two older sisters, Emily and Laura, are squabbling amicably as they set out the silverware. Emily is sporting bright red hair this year. She does it purely for the shock value, but it never seems to get his parents. At least it's better than last year's blue. They pause only long enough to give him directions as they disappear to retrieve the dinner dishes.  
  
It takes a while, but they finally all settle down to eat. His family fascinates him, watching them have dinner, how normal they look. Especially his parents. They sit closely together, asking every one about their lives, having some private discussion in undertones and glances. He always envied those glances because he had known since he was little that there would always be a part of their conversations he would be left out of.   
  
His parents are a sort of mystery to him. Where they came from, how they met Aunt Belle, how they fell in love, why they sometimes call each other Syd and Vaughn when they think no one's listening, they never tell. He loves mysteries, so he lets them have their secrets.   
  
His beeper interrupts his happy glow. Work, ugh. He hates trying to explain to his parents why he has to leave their family dinner, why he has to leave now, not in a couple of minutes.   
  
"Mom, Dad, I'm so sorry..."  
  
A look passes between them, and just for a moment he suspects they know. But, no, they couldn't, he's just jumping to conclusions again. His parents are completely innocent, the kind of people he does this for.  
  
"It's no problem, William," his mother says with a soft smile that makes it impossible not to feel guilty. "A matter of life and death, right?" she jokes.  
  
If only she knew...   
  
He's out the door and in his rental car in matter of minutes after a flurry of goodbyes and condescending looks from his sisters. He promises himself that this won't happen next year as he drives to the beach, but he can't truly be sure.  
  
He leaves the car in the parking lot as he heads for the boat docked in the pier. They'll send someone to take it back to the rental company, they always do.  
  
Agent Weiss stumbles into view as the motor roars into life, muttering about being to old for this and poor pension plans. "Hiya, William. Nice dinner with the family?" When he sees the younger man's downtrodden look, though, he lays a comforting hand on his arm. "Next year, boyo, next year SD-6 will be gone and you can spend all the time in the world with the folks."  
  
"No promises, Eric. You and I know nothing's for certain." He sighs. "One person who understands, at least."  
  
"Nah, Will, I'm sure your parents understand, in their own way."  
  
"How could they-" He's interrupted by Weiss's cell phone ringing.  
  
"Sorry, gotta take this..." He turns his back, as if that would make his conversation private. "Yeah, Mike. Uh-huh, got our boy. Nope, don't you guys worry a bit...You know I always take care of him...Retire? Who, me? Well, maybe one of these days. See ya soon, Mike."  
  
He's always wondered whom this mysterious "Mike" is that Weiss always gets a phone call from when he goes on a mission. Another mystery in his life, but he likes it that way. It gives him a safe feeling knowing some anonymous benefactor is looking out for him, like some sort of angel.  
  
He turns his face to the wind as the boat speeds off into the starry horizon, and Weiss busies himself with some rope, all earlier conversation forgotten.  
  
Yeah, like some sort of guardian angel.  
  
  
A/N: So, did you like it? Then tell me so! 


	5. The Mysteries

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Anyway, this idea came to me last night, so I decided to add it on. Whatever happened to Will Tippin? Will SD-6 ever go away? *Dramatic Music* Stay tuned to find out...  
  
  
Chapter Five  
  
The Mysteries  
  
The plane rocks, and a red light flashes, illuminating the man's face in a hellish glow; dirty and covered in grime, with a long, scraggly beard, more gray hair than his age warranted, and old, old eyes. His name, or the name that appeared on file, was Will Tippin.  
  
William can't help but stare as the shadows reach to cover Tippin's face again. This was who the CIA needed to take down SD-6? He had expected someone younger, maybe with more spirit. The only evidence that this was truly who they wanted was the words carved in the gray stone walls of the cell William had rescued him form only hours before: SD-6, Sydney Bristow, and towards the back, where he must have grown tired and desolate, they combined into SyD-6.  
  
William taps his fingers on the bench in an unconscious imitation of his father. Almost thirty years in prison for unknown crimes in an unheard of country. Why hadn't they just killed him if he knew so much? Maybe he was bait for someone.  
  
And who was Sydney Bristow?  
  
He clears his throat uncomfortably to catch the man's attention. "Mr. Tippin, I'll keep my questions brief and leave the rest to trained CIA, but can you tell me what you know about SD-6?"  
  
"Everything," he says simply in a voice hoarse of disuse. "It's almost funny how much information they'll leak around a dead man."  
  
William shivers at the flat, detached tome as much as the words. "Alright," he drawls uneasily. "And can you tell me who Sydney Bristow is?"  
  
"Sydney Bristow," he breathes with the feverant air of holy men speaking of their God. "Sydney was my best friend. When he fiancee was killed, I decided to investigate his death. I got too close to the truth; I was captured and tortured, and Sydney rescued me. It was then I learned who she really was: a spy, a double agent for the CIA in SD-6. Later, when she was discovered as the mole, SD-6 took me into custody for my connections to her and my earlier threat. From there, I'm sure you know what happened." He pauses painfully, the red light blinking on again to reveal silent tears. "I never did find out what happened to Sydney, is she safe somewhere or,or...I always believed deep down she would come for me, so she must be dead."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
William stalks down the hall of the CIA offices, taking joy in every solid footfall. He's frustrated with his search for information on the mysterious Sydney Bristow, and he feels that there's something he needs to know about this woman who just to occupy his "position."  
  
Weiss's door gives a satisfying smack against the wall, and his handler looks up in surprise.  
  
"Will? What are you doing here? By the way, great job on the mission, boyo--"  
  
"Sydney Bristow. I want her file."  
  
Weiss's pen falls out of his limp fingers and rolls across the desk. "How-How did you find out about Bristow?"  
  
"The prisoner you sent me after. Why wasn't I told about an agent who used to work inside SD-6? All the information she could have..."  
  
"Damn. I should have known that guy would talk to you. You didn't need to know about Bristow; she can't help you."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"She's dead."  
  
"Dead? Really?"  
  
"As dead as she can get, boyo."  
  
"Dammit, Weiss, doesn't matter. Just give me the file."  
  
"You won't leave me alone until I do, will you?"  
  
"I'll make your life a living hell."  
  
Weiss wipes his brow, muttering about how Mike was going to kill him. He reaches under his desk for a hidden key and bends to unlock a cabinet.  
  
So his "Mike" and Sydney Bristow were connected somehow...  
  
"You had it here all along?"  
  
"Well, Bristow's handler was a friend of mine. When he disappeared I sort of, um, inherited it."  
  
William merely rips the manila folder from him with unnecessary force. He flips the file open with casual grace, but his heart stops when he see the picture paper-clipped onto the sheets.  
  
He sucks in a long breath through his teeth. She was younger, but it was still defiantly her.  
  
"My mother?"  
  
"Like I said, Sydney Bristow's dead; there's only Juliette Dupont now."  
  
A distinctive sinking felling begins in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly finds it hard to breathe. "All these years and she never said...Does my father know?"  
  
"He was her handler, Michael Vaughn."  
  
"Syd. Vaughn. Mike." The world falls into place with sickening speed. "Weiss, they've finished interrogating Tippin, haven't they?" He nods mutely, unsure of where this is leading. "I need access to Tippin, now...and a plane."  
  
"I don't know if that's wise right now...What do you need him for?"  
  
"I'm taking him home with me."  
  
"H-Home!" Weiss's chair hits the ground as he shoots to his feet. "William, I think you need to stop for a minute, calm down..."  
  
"No, I will not calm down. Yes, I know I am very distressed right now; I've just found out I've been lied to all my life, but I am also armed. So, it's my way or no way at all."  
  
"Alright, alright. You're too much like her, you know? Just let me get my coat."  
  
"Your coat? Where are you going?"  
  
"With you. You don't think I'll let you go to your parents without me, do you? Somehow it'll end up as my fault for telling you. I've got to defend my good reputation. Or at least face my death like a man."  
  
  
To Be Continued...If You Review! 


	6. Heroes

A/N: Okay, left you hanging for a little, didn't I? Well here's how the story ends...  
  
  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Heroes  
  
The door swings open to his parents' home, not to the warm golden glow he remembers, but darkness and the barrel of a gun.  
  
It surprises him how natural she looks with a gun in her hands, his mother; more natural than she ever looked working around the house.   
  
Must be in the genes.  
  
"William?" Her voice sounds so normal, like she's not holding a gun to her child's head. Well, maybe this is normal to her. She lowers her hands, but he notices her grip on the trigger never loosens. "You really should call before dropping in." She lays the gun gently on the table and reaches for the light switch, setting his vision on fire with the sudden brightness.  
  
"Mom?" the word trembles in his throat. Is this real?  
  
"Syd, honey?" his father calls as he slides around the corner, yet another gun in his hands. "Everything okay?" He stops, putting out on hand to lean heavily against the wall. "Will? What a way to-WEISS!"  
  
Behind William's ear, Weiss raises his hand in shy greeting and steps into the room, seemingly at ease. "Hey, Mike...Nice place."  
  
"I should have known, Eric! Should have known after what happened to my dog-"  
  
"Don't bring the dog into this! Donovan got exactly what he deserved..."  
  
"-that you could never be trusted with MY CHILD!"  
  
"It wasn't my fault!" he protests feebly. "When he found out about Sydney Bristow, he wanted, no, demanded the file; I had no choice! Then, he drags us all down here..."  
  
"And who did he hear about Sydney from?"   
  
"Oh God." She's seen him. He looks better with his hair cut and his face scrubbed, but there's still no masking the broken look in his eyes. "Will? I-I..."  
  
"Sydney?" He steps hesitantly inside the house. "I always knew you'd come for me." He casts a look to William standing beside him. "In a way you did."  
  
The tears are running down her face now, her whole body shakes as she holds out a hand to this ghost in front of her, afraid he isn't real, afraid he is. "I asked and asked about you...They'd never tell me anything...I figured you were better off without me or just...just dead."  
  
"Well," he begins indifferently, "in a way I was."  
  
His mother stifles a scream of pain with her fist. William feels a sudden need to protect her from the stinging words of this bitter man from her past, a past he had brought right back to her doorstep. His father, though, has already taken care of that. He steps up to wrap his arms around her wracking frame, whispering in her ear to block out the words. Little by little, she straightens in the circle of his arms and tucks her hair behind her ear in a business like manner.  
  
"We're not going to get anything done standing here...We all need a good night's rest and a little time to think." His father nods his firm agreement.  
  
William reaches numbly and closes the door on the outside world. More time to think...He'd had enough of that during the endless plane ride. Time to think of all his happy memories, and what he had been missing the whole time. Time to think of all those looks and glances and words that had once meant nothing at all, which now where dripping with secrets. Time to think, time to get lost, burrowing in his mysteries and trying to place their answers.  
  
When everyone else is safe in bed, he wanders the halls, lingering over pictures and trying to recall the people in them. All strangers.  
  
His mother finds him finally collapsed in a deadened heap on the couch. "Can't sleep?" she murmurs softly, in a voice he can almost remember. But does it really mean the same thing now? One hand places itself cautiously between his shoulder blades, rubbing comforting circles.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me? Even when I was a spy, too?" he suddenly needs the answer, no more delaying the truth.  
  
"Ah, William, baby, you've got to understand. Your father and I, we had so many people to protect: your sisters, Francie-Aunt Belle-countless other people who you can never even know, and yes, you too. Oh, and how selfish it sounds, but us. We gave up a lot to have this, to have you...Surely Weiss's told you the story by now. It's hard to let that go."  
  
The silence stretches over them like a blanket. Yes, he can see it now. All they'd given, all they'd taken, all they deserve. And he might destroy it by being so thoughtless.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Mom. I've brought all this terrible stuff right back to you..."  
  
"Don't worry about it, please don't. It all would have found me again, silly to think I could ever escape. It's better to face it with my family."  
  
"Can you tell me just one last thing...Am I named for-for him?"  
  
Wordlessly, she gets up, crossing the room. At first, he thinks he's offended her somehow, but she stands on tiptoe next to the bookcase, running her fingers along the top until she finds what she wants. She comes back, laying the photo album across both their laps, flipping to the last page.  
  
On the left side, he recognizes baby pictures of himself and his sisters. On the right side, next to each child's picture, is the image of a stranger. Beneath each of the three sets of photos is written one word in beautiful scrawling handwriting: Innocence, Forgiveness, and Heroes.  
  
Her finger traces across his sister Emily's face to the woman pasted beside her. "Surely working with SD-6 you've heard of Arvin Sloane; well, this was his wife, Emily. Emily was the closest thing I had to a mother for a long time...Emily is for Innocence."  
  
Next are his sister Laura and a beautiful, alien woman, who's obviously been cut from a larger photograph. "My real mother, Laura Bristow, or Irina Derevko, KGB. Laura is for Forgiveness."  
  
Her finger finishes its swirls to stop on the oldest picture, tapping it lightly. "This is your father's father, William Vaughn. In one of those ironic twists of fate, my mother killed him, but he still died for his country and what he believed unshakably in. William is for Heroes, past and present."  
  
The book closes with a snap, and she moves to return it. She pauses one last time in the middle of the room, hands on hips. "I hope that was enough of a bedtime story for you. Now get some sleep!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
His mother, Aunt Belle, and Tippin are deep in conversation when he wakes in the morning, clinging to their steaming cups of coffee and trying to hide their tears over their mugs.   
  
William expertly avoids them, sliding quietly into the sunny kitchen where his father is reading the newspaper. Or at least pretending to, since he lingers a bit too long over the page he's reading. Weiss is slumped in the chair next to him, looking beaten, probably from some early morning tongue-lashing.  
  
"You really don't eat enough, Will." He doesn't even look up where his son is closing the refrigerator; just folds back another page. William flashes him a brilliant smile and continues to nurse his glass of orange juice.  
  
Glass shatters.   
  
They're all on their feet before they know what's happening, all running for the living room. Inside, there's chaos. One of the windows in splayed in a glittering arc across the carpet, reflecting the warm sun; Aunt Belle is clinging to Will, who looks ancient and resigned to his fate; and his mother...  
  
His mother lands the last blow to man with a frightening precision. He crashes bonelessly to the floor, unconscious. It's only then that William remembers there's no one to protect anymore, his mother can take care of herself.  
  
"Do you think they've found us, Vaughn?" her voice echoes uncannily with the undertone of his heart beating rapidly.  
  
His father runs a hand through his hair. "We'll have to question him when he wakes up, find out who he was sent for."  
  
His mother relaxes minutely. "One assassin, only one. I don't think they know, or they would have sent more. They must be tracking Will somehow, though, if they don't even know about William..."  
  
"Take it one step at a time, honey. We can't just jump to conclusions...Tie him up first, clean up the glass..."  
  
It turned out that, from what they could get out of the assassin, SD-6 knew nothing about Christophe, Juliette, or William Dupont. Nothing about Sydney Bristow or Michael Vaughn. They kept him in the underground cellar, despite Weiss's insistence that they call in the CIA. There were too many people involved already; the CIA would only complicate things. Maybe they'd call tomorrow or the day after that, just not now.  
  
They all slept fitfully that night after a long, anxious day, crowded into the house for safety and comfort. They even set up guard shifts. William volunteered for two, the most his mother would let him take, pacing restlessly.  
  
Sometime during the night, Will Tippin left.  
  
They find his note in the morning, propped up so they can't miss it. His father reads it to the group because his mother's voice is shaking too much. Aunt Belle holds onto her arm while he and Weiss cast guilty glances at each other across the room.  
  
"Dear Sydney,  
  
"By the time you get this, I hope to be far, far away from you. This, you see, is the only way I can thank you for your unfailing kindness and friendship. I hate to think that the only way I have shown my gratitude to you is by bringing danger so near to your beautiful family. Distance, is my first gift to you.  
  
"This is my second: I hope I have the pleasure of being the first to inform you that because of the information I was able to provide the CIA with, every last branch of SD-6 with soon fall. All these years, and you and your son have finally done it. My sincerest congratulations.   
  
"Take care of yourselves and each other, since we get no better rewards.  
  
"-Will Tippin."  
  
William looks to his mother, but she is smiling with a glowing sort of joy. "I don't understand...He-He leaves just when he can become the hero that brought down SD-6?"  
  
"There a different types of heroes, William, you should know that." She gets up to take his hands, trying to communicate her happiness. "There are heroes like Will, or even you and me, who people will never hear of because we save more lives that way; we work quietly and we live quietly, none of the smoke and mirrors of the media. We are real. And I, personally, think that's the best type."  
  
"So what are you going to do now that SD-6 is gone?" his father asks coming up beside them to gently lay a hand across his mother's shoulders.   
  
"Retire." Weiss blushes when he realizes he wasn't being asked.  
  
"The CIA has offered me a nice comfortable desk job." He look at his father, who quirks his mouth in an odd sort of grin. William squirms a little uncomfortably, worried about broaching the subject, "And there's this girl..."  
  
"Go for it." His father laughs as his mother gives a conspiratorial smile.   
  
This is his family. He wonders how he ever thought it was possible not love these people.  
  
Several weeks later, when the last of SD-6 falls to CIA raids, they burn the letter; burn the last evidence that a man named Will Tippin ever existed.  
  
It's hard lesson to learn, but sometimes it's better that way.  
  
  
The End...Or Is It Really Ever Over? 


End file.
